After this a long linen robe was thrown over him, and he was led back to his room, where two more slaves awaited him, with richly-chased cups and flagons, and some delicate dishes for the morning meal.
When he had eaten, the chamber was darkened by the drawing of violet-coloured curtains over the doors, and then he was left to dream away the early part of the day, till the time came for resorting to the public baths or the Coliseum, where there was frequently a hand-to-hand gladiatorial fight, and wrestling with beasts.
Antonius troubled himself very little about his new inmate; he had received him in accordance with the wishes of Severus, and he was to take him to the palace at a convenient season, where he was to hold some office about the Emperor’s person, when duly qualified.
In this life, marked out for him by his father, Casca would have been miserable, had it not been for his studies and for the interest which his visits to the Cæmeteria awakened in him. Little by little the boy withdrew himself from the scenes of license and indulgence which formed the atmosphere of the villa. He was, like one who had gone before him, almost persuaded to be a Christian, and yet he held back. He was afraid to profess what he did not really feel, and when he heard of many who recanted at the last moment to avoid the torture or the fire, he would argue with himself that it was better to be assured of his own faith before he openly professed what in the hour of trial he might be tempted to recant.
He was not sure of his own heart. Sometimes he was lost in a maze of doubt and uncertainty; at others he resigned himself to the calm philosophy of the schools, which looked down from a high vantage-ground on the old and young faith alike, and taught that the life of man on earth, fleeting though it was, was all. No beyond, and therefore, no anxiety as to the future—no cold shadow of dark fear.
“Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,” was the watchword of thousands in Rome in those days.
Then there were moments when, after careful study of the manuscript which had been lent to him, he would be strangely moved, and St. Paul’s eloquent description of all those who had died in the faith would fasten upon his imagination. Was not the same spirit of endurance abroad at that very time? Some two hundred and seventy years had gone by since St. Paul had made up that grand roll of names of those who esteemed the reproach of Christ greater riches than any treasure, and there was the same tale of suffering being told for the faith of which these men and women were the valiant defenders. They had received the promise, which promise reached beyond death to the life eternal. “If only,” Casca thought, “he could know that it was true, would he not have strength given him to confess Christ openly.” Then the natural disposition of the boy asserted itself, and he would turn back to the philosophy of the schools, and try to rest upon the hope rather than the belief that there was no beyond.
Like many since that time, Casca could not surrender his heart, and, lost in the mists of human reasoning, he could not become a little child that he might be wise.
Casca’s natural sweetness of disposition won him friends in that large and pleasure-seeking household, and the taunts and scoffs that he had at first to endure, for his pure living and dislike of over-indulgence and luxury, ceased. It was universally allowed that Casca, the son of Severus, must be left to go on his own way undisturbed, and as he never offended any one, it was by common consent conceded that no one should offend him.